not a romcom movie
by paradisdesbilles
Summary: Modern Lieutenant Duckling. "I'm not interested in being made the butt monkey of the school, or being some social experiment where you're trying to have me elected prom king or what have you, until we realise we've been falling in love all along and have our first kiss on an Adele song. Not interested. Savvy?" "I – I'm not planning to fall in love with you." "Good. Neither am I."
1. Chapter 1

"This is boring. I'm bored."

Skirt hiking up her tights and tank top folded up to reveal her flat stomach, Ruby looks the perfect cheerleader cliché as she lies on top of the picnic table and basks in the September sun. Emma looks above her shoulder to share an amused glance and an eye roll with Mary Margaret over the brunette's body, before leaning against the table once more, hard wood biting her back as she crosses her legs and looks around her.

First lunch break of the school year and nothing has happened yet. No wonder Ruby is bored out of her mind. Even as the brunette works on her tan while waiting for the cheerleader tryouts, she keeps complaining about how quiet the school is, reminding them of all the events of the previous year – David and Kathryn breaking up, Victor sneaking in the chemistry labs, Gold's hilarious speech when he's started stuttering at the sight of Miss Belle, the French teacher.

"And now," she adds, with a hand gesture for emphasis. "Nothing. Nothing _at all_."

Mary Margaret humours her with a "Poor you" that has Emma snicker – how much sarcasm the petite girl can pour in only two words is just impressive. Little does she know, that sound out of her lips is all Ruby needs to latch onto her, grabbing her arm and tugging like a damn five year old. (Ruby is a five year old all right, and Emma will never understand how she was deemed trustworthy and responsible enough to be offered the title of cheerleader captain.)

"Emmaaaaa. I'm bored. Do something."

"What, I'm your dancing monkey now?"

She doesn't need an answer to that question, but Ruby gives an obvious "Well, yes" anyway that has the blonde roll her eyes once more. She has to admit Ruby has a point, though, this day has been uneventful so far, so unlike any other year – Storybrooke, Maine: peaceful town, crazy high school. Everything is quiet now that one Nolan twin is dating Mary Margaret and the other gone to military school, and even Victor has fallen on the right side of the law since he started being – whatever he and Ruby are, Emma doesn't want to know the details. And yes, this is boring to Emma, who feels like the third wheel with both her best friends.

(She doesn't want to think about Neal. She _won't_ think about Neal.)

As if privy of her thoughts, Ruby suddenly forgets her sunbathing moment to sit next to Emma, all sparkling eyes and wolfish grins. "We need to find a new toy boy for you."

"Ruby…" she starts, just as Mary Margaret says, "Ruby, leave Emma alone."

But Ruby, unsurprisingly, has none of it, already scanning the crowd in front of them in search of her new victim. There is nothing new about that – her desperate trying to find the man of Emma's dreams, or whatever – but Emma doesn't really feel like humouring her right now, not when the wounds of her summer are still very much opened and raw, when the tears are still itching at the corners of her eyes when her mind wanders a little too far for a little too long. She just wants to stay single long enough to lick her wounds – too much to ask, apparently.

"Ahah! Him!"

Ruby points someone excitingly, and Emma already dreads the worst (read, football team) as her eyes travel from Ruby's finger to where the finger is pointing.

She blinks.

There, next to the lockers, stands no other than Killian Jones in all his nerdy unkempt glory (no). Not exactly facing the wall of lockers, probably to see if someone is coming, he stuffs his books in his locker with a speed that makes Emma sad – one that all the bookworms share, one that screams _bullied_. She has never really understood why, because he looks quite the handsome type if you forget the geeky shirts and big glasses. He could be one of the popular guys in school if he felt like it – which he doesn't, and Emma doesn't get it because why _wouldn't_ you want to be popular? People like you, and are nice to you and smile at you in the corridors and say all those nice things about you.

Or maybe it's just her.

"Jones? You want me to date _Jones_?"

Ruby raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her, smug proud on her lips and arrogance in her voice as she replies, "What? Not up to the challenge the virgin king has to offer?"

("Now you're just being mean," dixit Mary Margaret.)

This is stupid. They haven't played that game in ages, especially not sober and _especially_ not with misfits minding their own business. But Ruby smiles at Emma that way, the one that brings out her competitive side (or her bitch princess side, depending of the point of view). Because, yes, Killian Jones is pretty much the ultimate challenge in town – he has never dated anyone, never even kissed anyone if the rumours are to be true, hence the beautiful (awful) nickname – and Emma finds herself curious and a little drawn to him.

(He might be just the distraction she needs.)

"Okay," she says, ignoring Mary Margaret's complains and Ruby's cheers as she stands up and ruffles her hair. "Okay, let's do this."

He's sticking his timetable to the door of the locker by the time she comes near him, and so she leans against another locker, arms folded against her chest, and watches him do. His body stiffens in acknowledgement of her presence, but he doesn't look at her, instead focuses on the task ahead. Emma almost wants to roll her eyes, because no one, ever, simply ignores her for the sake of it, but she forces a smile on her lips and in her voice, almost too cheerful.

"Hey, Killian!"

That makes him glance at her, eyebrow rising in surprise. "You know my name," and it sounds neither like a question nor a fact.

"Of course I do. We've been in the same class since kindergarten."

"And you've been ignoring my existence since kindergarten."

Well, that stings, because surely they must have talked at least _once_, like that one time when – she doesn't manage to come up with anything. Which, weird okay, because she's certain she's always been nice to everyone in her class and she doesn't like her memory failing her, even if it's just a smile at a borrowed pencil or a 'thanks' at being given a book. But no, nothing, and it upsets her more than it should because how can you spend that many years with someone without speak to them, not even once?

You can't, that's it.

"Well, I'm not ignoring you now, so…"

He (finally) stares at her for a couple of seconds, blue eyes hard yet confused, then looks at the table where Ruby and Mary Margaret are still sitting, not so subtlety staring back, then stares at her again with a frown.

"Not interested."

And he goes back to whatever he's doing in his locker, leaving Emma gaping and burning holes in his neck. Her cheeks burn red with embarrassment – she just got snubbed by a nerd, the absolute disgrace. "Seriously?"

He chuckles, dark and hollow, as he shoves a book in his bag and throws it over his shoulder before closing his locker a little too forcefully. When he faces her again, she notices how tall he actually is – he slouches, apparently on purpose – as she has to look up if she wants to meet his eyes.

"Listen, Swan, you seem nice enough if the rumours are anything to go by. But I see there's a bet of some sort going on with Lucas right now. So I'll save us both some time by saying I'm not interested. I'm not interested in being made the butt monkey of the school, or being some social experiment where you're trying to have me elected prom king or what have you, until we realise we've been falling in love all along and have our first kiss on an Adele song. Not interested. Savvy?"

She blinks up at him, stunned into silence. "I – I'm not planning to fall in love with you."

"Good. Neither am I." He tightens his hold on the strap of his bag. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a World of Warcraft tournament to attend."

It takes Emma long seconds after he's gone to realise he was opening mocking her.

(Well, at least she thinks he was.)

…

"Dude, are you fucking kidding me?"

Liam points at him with his bottle of beer before taking a long swing, and Killian can only groan in reply, dramatically letting his forehead fall on the cold granite of the kitchen island. (He mouths a "ow" because he managed to hurt himself in the process, he's just a moron that way.)

"Like, seriously, bro, you were in love with the girl before you even knew what love was." His brother, the poet. "And now that she's taking an interest in you, you'd rather reject her than bang her. The fuck?"

His brother. The _poet_.

"She's not interested in me. She's interested in that stupid bet with Lucas. It could have been that Anton guy and it would have been the same for her."

What Killian doesn't say: he's been in love with Emma Swan since he was seven, the way you love the sun. Beautiful and perfect from afar, but he wouldn't venture too close because he'd rather stay alive, thank you very much. He doesn't feel like been some sort of modern fucked-up Icarus, burning his wings for a girl who will never love him back, who will never see past the geeky persona through the tinted sunglasses of her own privileges.

Nothing about him is worthy of the princess anyway, not his reputation and definitely not his bank account (or rather, lack of one). She's at the top of the social food chain, and he's so at the bottom he's planning to dig a tunnel to China at that point. And he's right in what he told her: life isn't a romantic comedy she watches with her girl friends during slumber parties, and it'd be stupid of him to believe otherwise.

"Yeah, I get that," Liam replies before taking another swing of his beer. "But isn't spending time with her because of a bet better than nothing at all? The way I see it, it allows her to know you better and to see the real you. And maybe then she'll want to spend time with you for you, not because Miss Cheerleader told her too."

Yeah, he hadn't thought about it that way.

"Liam, when did you become so clever?"

"Just trying to get you laid, bro."


	2. Chapter 2

It's kinda surreal, how people react to that crazy little fic of mine. Thank you all for the follows, favs, and reviews, I so didn't expect that to happen when I wrote the first part for the CS AU month thinking "oh why the hell not". I hope this new chapter will be as enjoyed as the first one.

* * *

The blonde tornado strikes after first period.

Which, really, Killian should have expected, what with the girl's reputation and all. Still, he almost jumps out of his skin when she appears at his side all of a sudden, grabbing his arm with both of hers and throwing a gleeful laugh his way.

"So you've heard," he deadpans, forcing his arm up so he can open his locker and grab a few books before his English class in five minutes.

"Of course. Everybody has!"

Something between a groan and a sigh escape his lips as he lets the book fall into his bag before turning to the little blonde. She's exulting, of course, in that I'm-totally-the-modern-version-of-Emma-Woodhouse way, with bonus grin from ear to ear and bouncing on her feet. She's probably already planning a hundred different plans of actions for him to get the girl, and Killian doesn't want to hear a single one of those plans – he's seen how messy things got when Regina started dating that guy who already had a girlfriend because Tink had convinced her to.

Thank you, but no thank you.

Not that his opinion matters much when Tink is involved, he learnt his lesson years ago. She holds on to his arm, tugging and tugging until he gives her his full attention – and she will get him late to his next class, the little minx.

"Where are you bringing her on your date? Do you know how you're going to propose? Have you named your children yet? I know you haaaave."

This is beyond ridiculous at this point, her singsong voice a little too loud to his liking – if people didn't know already, they sure are now – and yet Killian can only laugh at his friend's excitement for him.

Which may or may not be a sad statement about his boring life, come to think about it.

"There is no date to speak of, Tinker Bell."

She scoffs and gives him a sideway glance only to scoff again seconds later. The girl knows him all too well, she's dangerous that way.

"Yeah, _right_. Tall, dork and Irish finally noticed by the golden princess? Come on, you're too big of a romantic sap for it not to happen."

He rolls his eyes, if only to show her that she _doesn't_ have a point (she really does) before walking towards his next class. Unsurprisingly, Tink's weight slows him down, her shoes squeaking as he drags her along with him before she decides to use her legs like a normal human being. She still holds on to his arm, though, and Killian knows she will only let go when she gets what she wants – he wonders what he did in a previous life to end with so many stubborn people around him.

"Come _on_, Killian. I'm your best friend. Just _tell me_."

He looks around him quickly – people minding their own business and not eavesdropping the two weird misfits – before leaning to whisper in her ear.

Tink's excited giggle is all the answer he needs.

…

The blonde tornado strikes during lunch break.

He's taken a habit of hiding in the far corner of the library, where no on ever goes because the lightening isn't good and it's where they keep the maths books anyway. But, as it turns out, it isn't that good a hiding place, as she finds him all too easily.

Killian is in the middle of his sandwich and his reading of Lewis Carroll's biography (creepy dude), getting a head start on the essay they were given that morning, when she plops down on the seat next to him. He's that close to yelping, and it's a miracle if he manages to swallow down the sound because, bloody hell, that was unexpected.

(He kind of choke on his sandwich, too.)

Emma leans forwards with her arms folded on the table, high ponytail still swaying behind her, eyes shining. She used to wear glasses up until a few years back and, now that he can take a close look at her, Killian notice the borders of the contact lenses around the vibrant green pupils. She's _too_ close, actually, his heart beating faster for something that has nothing to do with the fear she gave him seconds before.

She's here, and it doesn't mean any good.

So he does what any sensible guy would do – he goes back to his reading of Lewis Carroll's disturbing photo sessions with Alice Liddell and pretty much ignores the blonde sitting there and fluttering her eyelashes are him like it's a freaking game. Which, of course, doesn't seem to please her as she clicks her tongue and looks around her with a frown. It is only a matter of seconds before–

"So, what are you doing?"

Killian fights back a smile – how very predictable of her – before showing her the book he's reading with further explanations. She's a clever lass, she can connect the dots on her own.

"_Seriously_?" she says, and it's a little breathless, verging on confused. "It's only three pages long and due in two weeks. That's the kind of essay you do the previous night."

_Aye, for folks like you_, he wants to reply, but settles for raising an eyebrow instead as he closes the book a bit too dramatically. Truth is, he couldn't write an entire essay the previous night to save his life, needing to triple check every fact and do some intense researches on the subjects and basically read too many books in a short period of time. He's anal that way.

(University is going to be so much fun.)

"What do you want, Swan? Because it surely isn't my company."

There's a look in her eyes just then, one that hits a little too close to home and takes him by surprise, but she snaps out of it before he has time to decipher whatever emotions he sees dancing behind her green pupils. Instead, she rummages through his pencil case and starts playing with two paper clips she finds there, linking them together over and over again. The motion of her fingers almost looks nervous, which can't be right – Emma Swan doesn't do nervous, 'confidence' is the only word in her vocabulary.

"We haven't planned our date yet."

He wants to groan and hit his forehead against the table. So he does just that, ignoring the part of him that has his heart beating faster at the sheer idea of spending time with her, alone, outside for school. Because this isn't about him and, no matter what Liam said last night, never will be. He admires the stubbornness, thought, and would admire it even more if it had nothing to do with him.

Alas…

Forehead still pressed to the cold wood of the table, he turns his head even so slightly to glance at her. Emma looks back with raised eyebrows of her own and a curious gleam in her eyes – he hasn't spooked her with his awkward dorkiness yet, but it will happen shortly. It always does. He doesn't look forwards to it.

"Poetry reading? Evening at the comic book store? Oh, how about an hour or two at the arcade?"

The curiosity on her features turns into a frown, lips pursed into the kind of pout he just wants to capture with his own mouth – eyes lingering there for a little too long before they meet hers again. She looks pissed, somehow. He guesses 'shortly' arrived sooner than expected after all.

"Stop doing that." He offers her a questioning shrug and shake of the head, to which she replies, "Stop putting yourself down because you're not like those jocks playing fetch in the stadium."

She takes him aback, to say the very least, and he sits straighter once more, only able to stare at her for long seconds. Those very same jocks she dated through the years, like it is always expected of pretty and popular girls like her – her cheerleader friend made it through the whole football team, if Tink's babblings are to believe, not that Killian cares much about it. Still, for Emma to put those guys down so easily… Aye, he did not see that coming.

(His heart does _not_ flutter suddenly and it does _not_ beat faster with hope. That's just ridiculous.)

Better change the subject before he makes a fool of himself; the maths section of the high school library isn't the best setting to profess his undying love to the girl in front of him.

"What's the bet anyway?"

She's the one to be caught by surprise this time, eyes a little wider and mouth forming a pretty 'o' before she replies. "Yeah, well… Fifty if we date until Christmas, a hundred for prom night."

That's – not what he expected.

"A hundred bucks? It that all I'm worth to you?"

A meaner person would have told Killian he isn't worth anything – Emma Swan may be many things, but mean she is not, and so she only crunches her nose in reply. Perhaps she too knows how ridiculous the whole thing is, or just how cheap her friend is. None seem to be good enough reasons to stop things before they even begin, thought, which he may or may not be grateful for. Killian hasn't decided yet.

"I didn't want anything at first, but Ruby insisted on some kind of payment... She insisted on a lot of things, actually… I'm sorry. I shouldn't…"

She stands up, ready to leave and call it a day. He should let her, if only so this crazy story could end already, everyone going back to their own little boring lives with their own groups of friends. But of course he doesn't, grabbing her wrist instead.

His eyes go wide when he realises they're touching, breath itching at the back of his throat – it's all so pathetic, the things she does to him by just being her, he wants to slap himself out of his unrequired puppy love. But her eyes are wide too, and she sits back with slow, cautious movements.

"Let's start with Christmas, shall we?" He hopes his grin doesn't turn him into the Cheshire cat, because he can feels himself falling into madness at that very moment. This is _such_ a bad idea. "Far be it from me to let you lose that bet without a fight."

Her fluttering eyelashes turn him into the romantic sop Tink had accused him of being only hours before, pink high on his cheekbones by now.

"You'd be ready to date me just for the heck of his?"

_I'd be ready to go to the end of the world for you._

"Your company is a cross I'm willing to bear if it means ruffling Lucas's feathers."

A beautiful lie, but one she believes if her nod and little pout are anything to go by. And that's about it, he thinks, just a nod to make things as official as they can get. Killian doesn't believe his luck (or is it luck, really?) but knows there is still work to be done before she sees more in him than a hundred dollars and annoying her best friend. It will need time but, well, Christmas is four months away from now.

And Killian Jones is a patient bloke.

"Saturday okay with you?"

She asks it so simply, like talking about the weather or their next history test, that it dawns on him how surreal this thing is. He's dating her. Him, Killian Jones, invisible nerd, is dating Emma Swan, princess extraordinaire, for a stupid bet. What even is his life?

"Aye. Yeah. Fine."

Awkward.

"Okay. Cool."

_Awkwarder_.

One final, determined, nod before she puts the paper clips back in his pencil case, grabs her bag, and stands up to leave. He just blinks up at her at first, neurons not quite finished with making the right connections just yet (and he knows it will take some time for that to happen).

"Swan," he says before she has time to escape and vanish by the other side of the bookcase.

She stops, looks back.

"Can I have your number?"

Her smile is dazzling, all white teeth and sparkling eyes, and Killian forgets how to breath for a second because – _wow_. She comes back, holding her hand to him, and their fingers brush when he gives her his phone. She type in her number quickly and, since he apparently entered another dimension without meaning to, takes a selfie for her contact picture with an exaggerated wink and grin.

"See you on Saturday," she whispers as she gives him the phone back, and he swears she sounds teasing or, dare he say, even flirty.

What. Even. Is. His life?


	3. Chapter 3

She doesn't see much of him for the following two days – just a glance around the corner and the flash of a smile during lunch break – and Emma isn't sure she wants to be relieved. Sure, their little tete-a-tete in the library, for all intents, didn't leave the walls of the library, but Emma doesn't know if they're already dating or – whatever the hell she's supposed to label this mess.

Truth is, she didn't expect him to go with it. Not after the way he'd rejected her on that first day. She'd already been ready to tell Ruby she had won, embarrassed with the idea of even wanting to use someone like that, but he had taken her by surprise and accepted.

Truth is, she doesn't know how to act around him, and is glad for that short break away from him. All her boyfriends – or whatever passes as a boyfriend these days – had been too busy going to second base with her to really care about anything else.

But Killian is one of the smart ones, and she's out of her depth with him. Not that it matters much to her. But, hell, if he's going to spend at least the next four months stuck by her side, she doesn't want him bored out of his mind. She's not enough of a bitch for that.

So while she's racking her brains over how to girlfriend, she's happy to just wave at him from one side of the hallway to another. People haven't caught up on things yet, so she enjoys it while it lasts.

She's in the middle of a French class when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Emma elects for ignoring it at first, but curiosity always killed the cat.

_Hopper is making a fuss over the Cold War like there's no tomorrow. Please, get me out of there. _

Unknown number. She frowns.

_Jones?_

The reply arrives a few seconds later: _The one and only._

_i should have known. no1 else would use proper syntax in their texts_

_Now you wound me, love._

_But seriously, no dashing rescue to get me out of this misery?_

She bites back a smile – gosh, she will not smile for this idiot who may or may not be her boyfriend – before texting back.

_ur on ur own buddy_

He only sends her a broken heart emoji and – yep, she's definitely smiling.

"Emma." Miss Belle's voice startles her out of her thoughts, and she looks up at the teacher with wide eyes, cheeks turning pink with the shame of getting caught. "You know the rules. No texting."

Miss Belle isn't cruel enough to take the phone away though, and Emma slips it back in her pocket.

…

They agree on 9pm the following day, and Emma's clever (or stupid) enough not to ask why so late.

She doesn't go too crazy over the outfit and make-up – it's only the first date and it's not even real so why bother – which means she's ready way too early and has no idea what to do in the meanwhile. (She finds herself watch cat videos on YouTube because, well…) The doorbell still manages to startle her, though, and she checks her reflexion in the mirror one last time before going downstairs.

Her foot is on the last step when she hears him say, "Good evening, Mister Booth." There is a pause, before he adds, "Yeah, I know…" and Emma has to bite back a laugh just imagining Marco's face.

Poor him, he's too old for that kind of thing.

That's of course the moment August chooses to appear in the doorframe of the kitchen, still wiping a plate and definitely frowning. "Why does it look like Killian Jones is picking you up?"

She offers him a half-hearted shrug. "'Cause he is."

She misses August's hilariously astonished face as she finally makes her way to the front door, grabbing her jacket along the way. Killian smiles when he sees her. (He wears jeans and a simple t-shirt, and she suddenly feels overdressed in her skirt and heels – but oh well, it will have to do.)

She kisses Marco's cheek and says, "I'll be back for midnight."

"Eleven thirty," he replies – it's so obvious he's out of his league, because she doesn't usually ask for a curfew, just comes and goes as she pleases. It doesn't stop Killian from nodding politely though, just as lost as Marco in that moment.

Emma follows Killian down the lane – his hands are in his pockets, like he doesn't know what to do with them, and it's cute – only to gape when she sees his car. Or, rather, his pickup, black and huge and rusty. Whatever she expected, it wasn't _this_.

"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," he says with some kind of breathless laugh as he opens the door for her. Emma doesn't know what alarms her the most – the car naming or the chivalrous attitude. "It's my brother's but, well, it'll do the job tonight."

She doesn't ask, she specifically doesn't ask the hundred questions crossing her mind just then – instead she thinks _you've made your bed, Swan_. Even more so when they drive out of town, ruling out all the theories she had about their date and instead wondering if he has lost it and is now planning to murder her in the woods. But he stops at the edge of old Zelena's field – Emma wonders if the hag will throw her twelve cats after them if they dare trespassing – and gets out of the car, and so she follows.

"Will you finally tell me what we're doing there?"

That's when she notices all the pillow filling the truck, as well as a few blankets, and Killian doesn't particularly replies but nods towards the sky. The sun isn't quiet set yet, the sky turning into shades of purples and navy blues, but a few starts are already peeking out, shining bright despite the dusk.

A smile curves up her lips.

"You're such a nerd," she says, nudging his shoulder playfully, and it doesn't sound like an insult.

He grins back. "I also have hot chocolate and cookies, if you want."

Stargazing and breakfast for dinner. That may be the cutest date ever, if she's honest with herself. So she agrees and climbs on the truck only to find a comfortable place among the pillows and to drape a blanket over her legs. (The skirt was _such_ a bad idea.)

They nibble on some cookies and tell each other about their week. Killian even makes her laugh in his retelling of the infamous history class of the previous day. His American accent is the worst, which adds to the hilarity of the whole thing, and she chokes on her hot chocolate at his impersonation of Professor Hopper – it surprises her in how _easy_ the whole thing is, like they've been friends for years and it's natural to speak about school with him in the middle of an empty field.

They settle more comfortably among the pillows as time goes by, until lying next to each other. The sky is clear tonight, no a cloud to be seen, the stars visible by now. That's the thing about a little town in the middle of nowhere, Emma thinks almost gleefully – no pollution to speak of and the most breathtaking view one can get for that kind of activity.

"Okay. Impress me with your knowledge."

He laughs softly but humours her anyway. (As if they were there for another reason.) "You know the Big Dipper, of course. It's the easier one to find."

He guides her through each constellation, and associates a Greek myth to every one of them. His voice is soft and lilted, and Emma finds herself hanging to his every word. Killian is both passionate and interesting, which never hurts – she likes that about people, when they're so excited about their passion they're willing to share it easily.

(She has sat through too many a conversation about football to know how boring people can be, even with something they love. This right there is the exact opposite.)

"Do you see the six stars there, diamond-shaped like a kite?" Even as he points them out, it takes Emma a few minutes to find said stars, replying in a hum when she does. He goes on with a laugh stuck at the back of his throat. "That's Cygnus. The constellation of the swan."

She smiles – she's been doing that a lot tonight, and she refuses to dwell on it for even a second.

"And what's Cygnus' story?"

"I'm glad you asked!"

He goes on with the story of Phaeton, who couldn't control the reins of Helios' sun chariot so Zeus had to destroy it with a thunderstorm, which resulted in both chariot and man falling in the river. Cygnus, in his grief, dived into the river day after day to pick up the bones – the gods were so touched they turned him into a swan and placed him among the stars.

"Well, that sucks."

He laughs, the sound low and hoarse. "It really does."

Silence falls between them once Killian is done with his tale. One she's all too eager to break – it's too comfortable to her liking, the simple fact of enjoying each other's company without words to fill the space between them. She doesn't know how to do this, doesn't even want to _learn_. What would be the point anyway?

Not to mention there's been a question at the back of her mind all evening long, one that tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop the words.

"Did you choose that spot so we wouldn't meet anyone on purpose?"

There's a sigh that sounds like an "Aye" and, even in the darkness, she sees him scratching his neck nervously. "I didn't think you'd want to be seen in public with me."

Something shifts between them just then, almost palpable in the few inches separating their bodies. Her breath catches in her throat, heavy and bitter, and no amount of swallowing changes that. She barely dares looking at him, afraid of what she might read on his features, of what she might read about herself.

"You think I'm such a bitch…"

Emma doesn't want to care – hell, _she isn't supposed to care_ – but it stings all the same. She's relied on people's opinions of her for way too long, needing their approval, needing to feel loved, that she's almost forgotten what it feels like not to be – the feelings buried deep down the moment she understood Marco wouldn't send her back in the system, all coming back to slap her in the face.

It's painful.

But she kind of deserves it, she guesses.

"Your and Lucas' hobbies are dubious to say the least but, no, you're not a bitch." Nice, but hardly believable. "I just understand why you wouldn't like to be seen with someone like me."

What a pair they make.

That thought alone is a whole other can of worms she doesn't want to open. Not if she's planning to survive those four months (and then some) unscathed, not if she only wants Killian Jones to be some kind of fucked-up rebound for the even more fucked-up summer she had. She can't afford this to be more than a distraction.

She can't afford to dwell on the fact that she's already establishing this – whatever _this_ is – as more that just an agreement to spend time together just to upset Ruby a little.

"It's getting late…"

It's all she needs to say for him to nod and sit up, offering her his hand to do the same and then to jump off the trunk. The ride back home is spent in silence, Emma's forehead pressed against the cold window while the radio plays some soft country song. He pulls over in front of her house and, for a few seconds, none of them move – until she turns around to look at him.

"That was nice. Thank you."

"You don't have to –"

"It _was_. Walsh invited me to Granny's for our first date. Stargazing is better."

The street lamp around the corner doesn't provide much light, but is enough to notice the blush creeping on Killian's cheeks. When he finally looks at her, it's with a smile she can only mirror.

"I'll see you on Monday?" he asks, tentatively, voice soft and shy.

She nods.

(He waits until she's inside to turn on the ignition, which is always sweet.)

…

August is still in the living room, working on his thesis – it's not even midnight, after all – when she closes the front door behind her and kicks off her shoes. But only one lamp is on, Marco already asleep, so she tiptoes her way to the kitchen, silent as a mouse, and pours herself a glass of milk.

She isn't surprised that August follows her.

"No lecture tonight, _please_."

He folds his arms and leans against the fridge with a smug little grin. "Wasn't going to."

Emma quirks an eyebrow at him from above the rim of her glass, but doesn't glorify him with a comeback. She's known him long enough to expect the lecture anyway – he loves his role as a protective big brother too much not to.

"Interesting choice of date."

"Didn't ask for your opinion."

"Gave it anyway."

She rolls her eyes as she puts the glass in the sink. The last thing she wants is to have an argument in hushed tones, in the middle of the night, about her romantic life. Been here, done that, no desire to do it again.

"_Goodnight_, August."

"If he hurts you, I'll kick his ass," he replies in a laugh.

She rolls her eyes. _Again_. "Yeah, right."


	4. Chapter 4

Emma finds him in the library (where else would he be at lunch break?) and sits next to him like she belongs, like she's done that all her life – putting her phone on the table and her bag on the chair next to her. He watches her, amused, as she opens the bag to grab a lunch box and a bottle of water (with cucumbers and limes in it and, god, could she be any more of a girly girl). She does all that without even a glance at him, then again like she's done that all her life, and he can only smirk at how comfortable she feels no matter the situation. It's a quality he envies her, really.

"Let me guess… Sushi?"

Her eyes go wide as she looks up – what, like she expected him to just watch her eat and not open his mouth? – and Killian smiles in reply. She looks down at her lunch box, then up at him again, before leaning forwards with her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

"If I'm the princess, what does that make you? The brain?"

Killian bites his bottom lip to swallow down a big toothy grin, not to make too much of a fool of himself. He could swear her eyes fall to his mouth for a second, but maybe it is nothing but wishful thinking.

"You wound me, love." He presses a hand to his heart, over-dramatically hurt by her words. "I'm obviously the athlete in this scenario."

She laughs, loud and unexpected – yeah he's definitely grinning like a fool now.

As it turns out, her lunch is some kind of pasta salad, which is always better than the PBJ sandwich he eats every school day of the week because Liam and he are the worst cooks in the world and couldn't make one nice meal to save their life. They're hopeless that way.

"How was your weekend?" he asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence – she's here for his company and it includes small talk, right?

She swallows her mouthful of pasta with a nod. "I had a date, it was nice." The way she looks at him from beneath her lashes, with a lopsided grin – she will be the death of him. "And yesterday we invited Ruby and Granny over for a barbecue, which is always nice too."

He wants to reply with a quip about a possible budding romance between Granny Lucas and Marco Booth, asking if the rumours are to be trusted. (Rumours being Tink's endless gossips, of course.) But he knows better than to indulge in such thoughts, if only because he and Emma are not close enough for that kind of teasing. So he settles for taking a bite of his sandwich while she washes down her pasta with a sip of water.

"What about you?" she asks, and he almost chokes on the bread in his haste to swallow and answer.

(What a bloody moron.)

"Good. Liam and I went sailing yesterday, since the weather was so clement." His ears and the tip of his nose are still pink from too many an hour under the sun. "Date was kind of all right too, I guess."

Even if she rolls her eyes, Killian doesn't miss the way her lips press into a thin line as she tries to repress a smile. It's not much, but it's a step in the right direction. A tiny baby step, but still a step.

…

"What do you mean you never saw it?"

She huffs loudly – not as loudly as his offended half-scream, and not loud enough for the librarian to glare at them from the reception desk.

"I didn't, okay? It's just a movie."

"_It's just_ – oh god."

He gets all flustered and red when he's upset, and it shouldn't be funny but _it is_. His eyes are a little wider, and his hair is a rightfully mess from running his hand through it out of frustration. Emma would be lying if she said she isn't ruffling his features on purpose, because the thing is so damn entertaining and she has to bite back a laugh not to opening mock him. Not that she wants to make fun of him anyway, but she has a feeling he wouldn't like her laughing at his face.

"Transformers fight Godzilla, so what?" she adds as she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth.

Her words have the anticipated effect of course, for he stares at her with his mouth agape and eyes wide – she almost worry about him for a second there.

"Transfo – Emma Swan, you did _not_ just compared the genius of Guillermo del Toro to that joke of a movie."

She can't help it – she laughs.

The librarian does glare at them this time, and gives them a 'shhh' just as loud and obnoxious as Emma's laugh, but the blonde doesn't care as she chokes on hiccups of laughter while Killian mumbles about "bloody disowning her, that's what he's going to do."

Her laughs die down, eventually, even with tears pearling at the corners of her eyes, and she takes a long sip of her water to help her calm down. Killian's pout is that of a kid throwing a tantrum, which is almost enough for her to laugh once more, but she inhales deeply and immediately feels better.

"Tell you what, Swan. I can't fake-date a girl who's never watched Pacific Rim. I just can't."

Even as she rolls her eyes at his antics, Emma checks over her shoulder to make sure no one heard him. They've been doing this all week, those library lunches with just the two of them, and people started noticing on Tuesday – it is now Friday, and the sparkle of a rumour turned into a wildfire, after a week of Emma not eating at her usual table with her usual friends.

It would be such a shame, to ruin it all now.

"If I tell you I'll watch it, will it make you happy?"

The idiot pretends to think about it, and she wants to slap his shoulder.

"It will have to do for now."

"Then I promise I will watch the freaking movie."

"Good."

He grins, and she rolls her eyes.

…

"Killian!"

She catches up with him by the end of the hallway, grabbing his wrist by reflex even if he was already in the middle of turning around to face her. His eyebrow rises at the sight of her, curiosity dancing in his blue eyes, but all she can do is smile at him for a second there.

(People are staring, of course they are, and she feels self-conscious all of a sudden. She shouldn't be, because she's Emma fucking Swan and she does as she please – dates who she pleases – but there is still something in the way people look at her, something that brings an uncomfortable shiver down her spine.)

"I – there's a change of plans for lunch."

He raises his hand to scratch at the spot just below his ear as his eyes drop to the floor – something he does quite often, actually, when he is nervous, which is _always_ – and only then does she realise she's still holding on to his wrist. She lets go abruptly.

"It's all right, I don't mind spending time on my own. Go with your friends."

Her heart breaks (a little, only a little) at the resignation in his voice. He doesn't have many friends, not that she knows of, beside Tink – but then again, Tink is friends with virtually anyone at school, so Emma isn't sure it really counts – and accepts his loneliness like it's the only thing he's ever been used to. She knows the feeling, even if it hasn't affected her in a very long time, remembers those few years before Marco, before August, with not so great families in not so great houses.

Nobody should ever be this lonely.

(What is she doing? Why is she doing this to him? There must be something wrong with her for toying with Killian that way, for using him when he's already at the lowest on the school chain food. A hundred bucks for ruining a guy's life is all but a fair trade.)

"No, that's not – I mean, yes. I want to eat with my friends. But I want you to come too."

He looks back up at her then, and frowns. "Swan, I don't think…"

"Come on, it'll be fine," she tries to convince him, but her voice sounds high-pitched even to her own ears – truth is, she's terrified of what might happen because _Ruby_. "We're dating, remember? Couples spend time with each other's friends."

He nods, unconvinced, and gives her a tentative smile.

That will have to do.

…

She hadn't planned on going all touchy feely with him – her friends knows she isn't the biggest fan of PDA and going against that would be suspect, like she's trying to much – but he grabs her hand as they walk toward her usual picnic table, fingers lancing with her so tightly she doesn't have the heart to let go. Instead, Emma squeezes in what she hopes to be a reassuring way and plasters her best smile on her lips as she ignores her heart beating painfully against her chest.

It's just lunch.

Easy as pie.

Mary Margaret spots them first and, bless her heart, welcomes them to the table with her biggest grin as she shifts to the left so they can sit next to her. "Hey guys," she says. "We were talking about the Miner's Day festival."

Oh, yeah. She'd forgotten about that.

And of course Ruby chimes in, because that's what Ruby always does. "Yeah, Mary wants to triple date. Which is a great idea, don't you think?"

Emma fancies herself flipping her best friend the finger – it's so damn obvious Ruby is trying to push some buttons there, a not so friendly reminder nothing about a third of that tripe date would be real.

"It's a grand idea, actually." She stares at Killian, surprised that he would so openly answer the question. The tip of his ears is red with a blush that doesn't colour his cheeks (skills, the boys has _skills_) as he turns his head to look at her with a tilt of the head, "Isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah," she finds herself replying – because, really, what else is there to say at that point? "As long as we don't colour-coordinate our outfits, I'm fine."

It's enough for Ruby to throw herself into a speech that starts with 'actually, you know what would be _really adorable_' and turns into yet another fashion debate between her and Mary Margaret that Emma couldn't care less about. But she smiles as she glances at Killian, and squeezes his hand – he smiles back, and some of the tension in his shoulders disappears…

"Hey, what are you girls talking about?"

…only to reappear seconds later. She feels his hand tensing again beneath her fingers, and with it his whole body, as David gives Mary Margaret a peck on the lips before sitting next to Ruby. He looks unfazed, same old David, so Emma glances between him and Killian with a frown as she tries to put two and two together. There is no history between the two boys that she knows of – David is sweet as honey, after all.

It doesn't take long for David to notice the other guy, though, and so he turns toward him, all smiles and everything. "Hey, I'm David. I don't think we've met."

But Killian's face tells a whole different story. "We did, actually. You gave me a swirly in fourth grade."

Mary Margaret chokes on her sip of water and Ruby bites back a laugh with extreme difficulty, as David stares at Killian with an expression that can only be defined as _dumbfound_. One Emma probably matches, because she's staring too, caught by surprise by the sudden turn of events – Killian's ears are even redder by now, more repressed anger than embarrassment.

David coughs and adverts his eyes. "It, hm, was my brother. James. But I'm sorry."

Now is Killian's turn to be taken aback, cheeks growing red too – definitely embarrassment. It's obvious he doesn't know what to say, and Emma thinks now is a perfect moment to jump into the conversation – she's beaten to the punch by Ruby, though.

"Nerd got balls. I like it."

She raises her hand expectantly.

Even with wide eyes and red cheeks, Killian gives her the damn high five.


	5. Chapter 5

Saying Killian is a bit nervous would be an understatement.

Triple date with Emma's best friends, both of which know this date thing is fake to begin with, and both of which Killian has never spoken to before last week. That's the understatement of the millennium, really, at that point, and he'd have half a mind to call Emma and pretend to be sick if he didn't know she'd see right through his lie.

But Miner's Day festival, what could possibly go wrong?

Nothing, and he focuses on that thought as he gets ready and grabs the car keys (Liam's "don't do anything I wouldn't do" not helping in the slightest), before driving to the park where the festivities take place. It's still early in the evening, making it easy for him to park the Jolly and then to find Emma in the crowd – her golden mane impossible not to notice anyway.

She has her back to him and so he makes himself as silent as possible as he comes near her, only to startle her when he grabs her hand. She throws him a glare that could be the textbook definition of _if looks could kill_, only for her eyes to soften when she understands he is no one but good old him.

She doesn't let go of his hand, and Killian counts that as a small victory.

"Hi," she says with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Fancy seeing you there, love."

It's been yet another week of secret library meetings and awkward lunch breaks with her friends, but he's getting used to it somehow – she makes it easy, with her laughs and smiles and the way she always grabs his wrist when he's overwhelmed by the situation. Sometimes he even forgets that thing between them isn't real, but the thought is a can of worms he doesn't want to open, so he forces himself to remember it is nothing but an agreement between them, and that she's his girlfriend in title only.

But it's hard to remember when Emma smiles at him that way, when her fingers fit so perfectly between his.

She looks back at the phone she's holding and types a text with her thumb only, other hand still in his, before she slips the device in the back pocket of her shorts. "They'll be there soon," she tells him, very matter-of-factly, before tugging on his hand and dragging him along. Because, apparently, you don't need your friends for the fun to begin. Good to know.

It takes Emma a grand total of three minutes to coax him into buying a candy apple – Killian has learnt quickly enough that she has a sweet tooth and could kill for chocolate, among other things – and she bites down on it as she pulls him from one booth to another. Hand still in his, may he add, dragging him along without even checking if he's following, until she points to this or that thing with a funny comment or gleeful laugh. It's so familiar, comfortable even, that Killian soon forgets the stares of people around them – students and adults alike – when they spot the odd couple. _She_ makes it familiar and comfortable, somehow, and he happily follows her lead.

(She probably doesn't even realise she's doing it, or is a far better actress than Killian thought. Because they hadn't touched yet, not once, and it's all too easy to truly be natural. He fails to ignore the shock of electricity coursing through his arm every time she tugs on his fingers, and has to remember that she isn't affected by him the way he is by her.)

(It's all an act. He just wished it felt like one.)

Her friends arrive soon enough, and only then does she let go of his hand, letting him share tight smiles with Victor and David – the former he knows from his biology class, the later he's still wary of – while she exchanges excited whispers with the girls. Killian doesn't miss the way Ruby keeps glaring his way, even if he can't quite decipher the look in her eyes – surprise? wariness? good old hate? – especially with Emma's hand finding his again when they decide to check on the candles booth.

Killian just raises an eyebrow at the brunette, as if daring her to comment, even if he's certain there is no way he could keep up with her sass. But, instead, she squints her eyes at him – it makes him more uncomfortable than any cutting word ever could.

That's enough for Killian to feel awkward all over again, out of place among that group of popular kids – he isn't supposed to be with them, he's not the kind who gets invited to their table for lunch, it's all so wrong – but he knows better than to show.

He hopes it doesn't show.

He doesn't know any more.

"Hey, you okay?"

Emma looks up at him with what could as well be worry in her eyes, head tilted to the side as she tugs on his hand once more to catch his attention. He only manages to croak a, "I'm fine" that's everything but convincing.

And indeed she frowns at his lie, but doesn't comment, instead squeezes his hand the way she always does when he feels like losing it. It calms his nerves, if only a little, even more so when she says, "Come, let's buy the candles for later."

She buys two, one for her and one for him ("it's only fair since you bought me the apple"), and tells him they used to sell them, going door to door in all of Storybrooke, until last year Mr Nolan decided to blow the competition by buying all of Mary Margaret's stock. To which Killian can only laugh and ask if everything is a competition to her, and Emma replies by wrinkling her nose at him – she doesn't even need to answer, competitiveness written all over her soft yet stubborn features.

(He tries not to overanalyse it. Fails.)

(An orphan is an orphan and he knows something about wanting to show the world you're more than your missing parents, better than that title following you like a second shadow, a weight on your shoulders.)

(Sometimes it scares him, how different yet so alike they are.)

And so he falls in steps behind her with that weird feeling of belonging with her but not with her friends – he lets them talk to each other and does when he does best, makes himself quiet and tiny as a mouse until people forget he's here altogether. It's an art he has mastered through the years, that of disappearing, and so he isn't surprised when it indeed works, when he isn't thrown a glance over the shoulder for all of five minutes.

But then again, who's surprised, really?

He's half-wondering if taking his leave now would be a good idea – nobody to notice he's gone, after all – when Emma slows down in front of him as she whispers something to Mary Margaret's ear. The petite brunette frowns, only for the blonde to point at something. Killian's eyes follow her finger, because he's a curious moron that way, to the nearby booth where a game of darts is set up. If the wall of colourful balloons catches the eyes, it's one of the prizes that caught hers.

Namely, a plush duckling, yellow and fluffy.

Killian smiles despite himself because the thing is adorable, before acting on impulse, not second-guessing his actions – he grabs Emma by the elbow and pulls her towards the booth, ignoring her soft protests until he goes for giving the person holding the booth a fiver. She grabs him by the wrist then, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"No," she says with a sense of finality in her tone and a frown on her face, as if daring him to go on with what he was about to do.

Too bad he can be as stubborn as she is sometimes. So he grabs her hand with his free one, prying her fingers off his wrist one by one until she's left only glaring at him. "Don't you want the duck?" he asks, voice as innocent as possible, while giving the banknote to the old lady.

Emma folds her arms on her chest, upset pout settling on her lips and fire in her eyes, as she answers, "No, I don't want the duck." And it's amazing, really, how good she is at detecting lies yet so bad at lying.

But Mary Margaret, who followed them while the others went god knows where, is giving him and a thumb up behind Emma's back, eyes insistent as she gives him a nod of approval. So he flashes Emma a grin before grabbing a dart and throwing it at the wall of balloons.

The first one misses its target but the four next don't, Killian's smile growing bigger as the balloons pop one after the other until he's left with no dart in his hand. He turns to the old lady with a finger pointed to the shelf of prizes. "The duck, if you please."

"It's one of the big ones. You're gonna need to play once more to get it."

He gives the woman a careless shrug as he fishes another bill out of the pocket of his jeans before – surprise, surprise – being stop by Emma once more. Her eyes are pleading, almost, as her fingers wrap around his forearm for the second time. "This is ridiculous. I don't even want it."

Yet another lie, even if she somewhat manages to make it a little more believable this time. But her eyes are wide opened, pupils blown and frantic as they take in his face. What he reads in them confuses Killian – it is more fear than anger at this point, and how is that supposed to make sense? It's nothing but a plush toy, it's not as if it were expensive or valuable. Just a little gift to play in the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.

Her voice is barely more than a whisper when she adds, "And I know you don't have a lot of money."

Here we are.

The poor Jones orphans.

Typical.

He tries not to hold it against her, if only because he knows they're the talk of Storybrooke no matter what they do and how good Liam is a paying the bills while saving for Killian to go to community college next year. All they see are two boys abandoned by their father, only living in a decent house because they inherited it after their mother's death. He doesn't hold it against Emma to think the way everybody else does. It stings, from orphan to orphan, but he puts it behind him.

"I want to please you," he replies in the same kind of hushed whisper.

Her eyes widen even more, if it's even possible, as she immediately shakes her head. "It's not worth it."

It's that sentence, more than anything else, that has Killian clench his jaw. His eyes don't leave Emma's as he gives the old lady her second fiver and she gives him the darts in exchange. Because he knows that look in her eyes, and knows she isn't talking about the toy, or his almost empty bank account. She says 'it's not worth it' and he hears '_I'm_ not' – he can't let her think that way.

Not worth it his arse.

The five darts hit their target with a frightening precision, before he points to the plush duck once more and offers a tight smile to the old lady when she tiptoes to grab it. He all but shoves it in Emma's arms, watching as she struggles for a couple of seconds not to let it fall before hugging it to her chest, only the thing's big plastic eyes and orange beak pocking out above her folded arms.

She keeps a tight embrace on the plush toy all evening long, burring her nose in its soft fur once in a while and sometimes throwing cryptic looks Killian's way. He never quite manages to read the emotions showcased there, something new and different. But, if Mary Margaret's eyes travelling from her best friend to him, and the way she smiles at him every so often, are any indication, Killian passed some kind of test here.

If only he knew which one.

…

He's getting ready for bed, moving in his too-dark room not to switch on the light and risk waking Liam up, when his phone lightens up with a new text on his desk. He grabs the device, the surprise at seeing Emma's name on the screen pale in comparison to the one he feels when he actually opens the message.

His heart does a weird little jolt in his chest when he looks at the picture she sent him – the plush duck tucked beneath the covers of her bed, right there in the middle – as a smile grows on his lips with each passing second.

He's busy over-analysing the smallest details – the off-white paint on her walls and the lavender hues of her bed linen, a colour he would have never associated with Emma Swan – when the phone vibrates with yet another message from her.

'Thank you.'


	6. Chapter 6

It is Sunday and she has nothing to do.

So of course Emma finds herself doing just that – nothing at all – as she lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the house. Everything is quiet today, save from the buzzing coming from the workshop – she vaguely remembers Marco speaking of a wardrobe someone had ordered, and so August is now helping him finish it on time.

She would help, too, were it not for her two left hands when it comes to that kind of stuff.

(Not for a lack of trying, since Marco thought it would be a good idea to let off some steam on the woodwork when she was younger and still rough around the edges. Turned out she was better at chopping wood, lumberjack style.)

(What can she say? There is something soothing about using an axe.)

(Such thoughts are totally the reason why nobody wanted to keep her before Marco.)

But today is not the kind of day where she wants to work until her hands hurt and her muscles are sore – no, today she just wants to lie in bed and stops thinking. And, while the first one is easily done, the second proves itself quite the impossible task.

Probably because she's still hugging the freaking duck to her chest.

She shouldn't care about it – it's just a plush toy, after all – but she actually does, burying her nose in the soft fur ever so often and closing her eyes only for memories of yesterday's night to jump at her face. He had been so adamant about winning the duck for her and, even after a good night of sleep, she still doesn't know what to think of it.

No one has ever done that for her.

No boy has ever cared that much.

It throws her off the loop because, even if it's not supposed to be real, even if they're not really dating… it kind of feel like they are, like it is. And some part of her, a small, tiny part of her, doesn't mind all that much – not when he buys her candies and makes her laugh and wins a freaking plush duck just because she looked at it for more than two seconds.

She can't let herself think that way. Soon it will be over and…

(_It doesn't have to be_, a little voice whispers to her ear.)

(Emma scoffs because when exactly dating someone turned out to be a good thing for her? This is the opposite of a good idea, she knows it all to well.)

(And Jones? _Please_.)

The mattress dips to her left, but Emma doesn't need to turn her head to know who just invaded her personal space. Mostly because only one person feels comfortable enough to act that way around her, after too many an hour lying side by side and whispering secrets and confessions, or simply enjoying the silent company of the other. Still, turn her head she does, and is welcomed by Mary Margaret's warm smile – one she can only mirror, of course, because that's Mary Margaret to you, always making you smile no matter the situation.

Emma goes back to staring at the ceiling a few seconds later, though, tightening her hold on the duck as she fights against a heavy sigh.

If Mary Margaret notices, she doesn't point it out.

And maybe they should acknowledge the elephant in the room, maybe they should talk about it once and for all, but Emma is fine with staying silent for now. Because talking about it means talking about her feelings, and she simply doesn't want to think about it – too messy, too confusing, when it shouldn't even be, when she isn't supposed to care. So she stares at the ceiling and presses her lips into a thin line, waiting until the moment Mary Margaret bursts out.

(If she closes her eyes, all she sees is _him_ – blue eyes, kind smile, hand warm against her. This isn't helping, either.)

Mary Margaret shifts next to her, enough to get in a more comfortable position, and to steal the duck from Emma in the process – she would complain about it, but complain means caring, and we can't have that. It's just a dumb duck anyway, she really doesn't care. (Lie.)

The brunette examines the duck like it holds all the answers in the universe, before she says, "Yesterday was interesting," in a voice so soft it doesn't carry any judgement or underlying meaning – it's just a fact, almost curious perhaps, as she waits for Emma's opinion on the subject.

"Yeah, it was."

"And Killian is nice."

"He is."

"You like him."

Emma's mouth opens but not sound comes out, so she settles for glaring at her best friend instead. The conversation has been so fast, yet so soft, that she had fallen headfirst into that trap. Well done, Blanchard. _Very_ well done.

"He's… okay, I guess. Not that it matters."

Mary Margaret hums under her breath, the kind of innocent little noise that means she isn't fooled, but doesn't reply. Instead, she glances at Emma with a raised eyebrow before staring back at the ceiling – it is dangerously effective, for the blonde starts squirming and fidgeting, until she gives up and snatches the duck back to hold it close to her chest. It is soothing, somehow, and obviously not helping her case.

"I don't do _boyfriends_. You know that."

And if she closes her eyes, it no longer is Killian's blue eyes plaguing her thoughts, but a crooked smile and a brown mope of hair, a whispered 'I love you, babe' ending in a heartbreak. She doesn't do boyfriends, rightfully so – has burnt her wings this summer and would rather not relive that dreadful experience, thank you very much.

Boyfriends are a headache and a waste of time, anyway.

She wished her friend would see it her way, instead of believing everyone needs a soul mate to feel whole.

"I don't know what happened this summer, and it's your right not to tell me," Mary Margaret says. "But I know you, and I know those – walls you built around your heart. And it's okay, really, I understand the need to protect yourself after so many heartbreaks. I really do."

Emma's first thought is to scoff because _no, she really doesn't_.

But Mary Margaret is an orphan, too, lost her mother when she was only a child – she knows of heartbreaks and the world not always being kind to you, knows of crying yourself to sleep and waking up with a headache.

Mary Margaret is just better at hiding it, at pretending it doesn't affect her.

So good at it, indeed, that Emma sometimes forget her friend's life wasn't always flowers and rainbows.

"But that wall of yours, it may keep out pain but… it may also keep out love."

Pause.

Emma turns her head slowly, until green meet green and Mary Margaret smiles kindly at her. Still they remain silent for a little while longer, in the kind of wordless conversation only people who've known each other for a very long while can have. Truth is, Emma is too deep in her own thoughts to even speak at first, too focused on her friend's words – she can only ponder on them, only question her own behaviour and her own heart.

"I've got you guys. I've got August and Marco." And she hates how weak, how broken her voice is – hates that she sounds like the lost little girl she's always been. "It's the only kind of love I need."

Thankfully (or maybe not) Mary Margaret has never been the kind of person to push your buttons until you explode. So she only gives Emma her least impressed face, before rolling her eyes and focusing back on the ceiling.

Fascinating, that ceiling, really.

All white and boring and shit.

"He likes you, you know. I saw it yesterday. Just in case, I don't know, you ever change your mind on the subject."

She won't, and it only makes matter worse – she doesn't want to break his heart when everything is over, doesn't want to keep toying with his feelings because she's a cold-hearted bitch who uses people and plays them like damn puppets.

Killian deserves better than that.

Better than her, even.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replies, proud of the evenness of her voice.

Mary Margaret nods before snuggling closer, cheek pressed to Emma's shoulder and legs entangled with hers. Despite the still frantic beating of her heart, Emma closes her eyes and lets herself enjoy this moment of peace with her best friend, lets her thoughts wander away from boys and high school and drama.

She's about to doze off for a most needed nap when the brunette reminds her they still need to work on that English assignment – the reason she came here in the first place. Emma groans.

…

It's late in the evening and she still isn't done with her homework, glasses perched on her nose to ease her tired eyes as she represses a yawn – Marco has never paid much attention to her partying as long as she has good grades, so she wants to compensate for yesterday's evening if only because she owes it to him.

She's about to give up, Maths exercises be damn, when her phone starts vibrating, effectively startling her out of her thoughts. She snatches the device, eyebrows rising at the little 'New message: Killian' on her screen.

Well, that was unexpected.

_Tink wants to spend the lunch break with me tomorrow, so I'm afraid I have to cancel our little tête-à-tête._

Yes, with the accents and all. What a nerd.

She's about to answer just that when the phone vibrates with yet another message.

_Unless you're afraid you'll miss me too much. Then I'll be more than happy to ditch her._

That effectively gets a smile out of her because – urg, this caring idiot with his knight in shining armour complex and his will to always be the most perfect boyfriend to her, no matter what happens.

(_He likes you, you know_.)

(Not helping.)

_i'll be fine. 2 busy working on that fucking math hw to even notice ur absence._

_Need help with that?_

_im good_

She _isn't_ – she hates maths alright, it doesn't make sense to her, never has and never will. And, really, is she even surprised when her phone starts vibrating once more and Killian's picture appears on the screen? (It's one Ruby took yesterday, actually, the tip of his ears red and his eyes shining as he looks away from the camera and, damn, since when are nerds allow to look that good?)

And maybe she should be annoyed at his insistence, even if she told him she didn't need his help… but it's maths. And it's late. And she's tired.

"Hello?"

"What's your problem, Swan?"

His voice is downright sinful over the phone – because of course it is – with a teasing edge to it, and she imagines him lying in bed with an arm folded beneath his head, powerful in his knowledge of numbers and formulas. Urg, damn bookworm.

"I don't know," she replies in a groan as she pinches her nose. "But I do know you're only doing this so I will be forced to miss you tomorrow."

And if his voice was illegal, it is nothing compared to his laugh, throaty and breathless and, nope, it doesn't do anything to her belly (or even to southern parts), not at all. "Touché, lass."

She isn't exactly sure how long they stay over the phone, as he explains everything about that particular chapter to her and guides her through the exercises the teacher gave them for the following day, but at some point Marco comes knocking to her door, telling her it's time to turn off the light, and only then does she realise it is close to midnight.

Time flies by when you're in good company.

Or something like that.

Still, as she says goodbye to Killian, she can't help but notice she is almost done with her homework and has indeed understood what she was doing for once – something rare enough to be mentioned, may she add. She'll only need to quickly wrap that up during the lunch break, she thinks as she brushes her teeth, and she will be all good.

A text awaits her when she comes back to her bedroom.

_Try not to miss me too much tomorrow._

Despite herself, Emma smiles.


End file.
